Something Like Sunlight
by 123Quarters
Summary: Hermione is fired from the Ministry, and the twins offer to help her out. The only problem is that one twin seems to be after more than just getting her job back.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: _**Don't own anything.

Pre-read A/N: After DH. Compliant up to the point of the epilogue. Fred is, quite obviously, not dead. Hermione is, quite obviously, not married to Ron. Other things will change and rearrange as needed.

_**Something Like Sunlight**_

_Chapter One: Hermione vs. Sales Witch

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_

Hermione Jean Granger had never failed at anything in her life. At times, she had not lived up to her own high expectations, but she had never, ever failed. Today was different though. When she walked into Flourish and Blotts with her résumé tucked firmly under her arm and her hair tucked even more firmly into a magically forced bun, it was the knowledge that she had, for the first time, failed that led her to be a bit snippy with the sales witch.

"Do you have any experience?" the vapid-looking young woman had droned, not even bothering to scan Hermione's two-foot long list of references.

"Yes," Hermione had responded curtly, trying to keep her temper in check. It had been boiling near the top all day.

"Any previous work with books?" the woman prodded further, though Hermione was quite sure she wasn't listening for an answer.

"Yes," Hermione said as clearly as she could through her gritted teeth.

"Well, I'm sorry, I don't think we have any openings at the moment for someone without experience," the witch sighed, confirming Hermione's suspicion that the woman hadn't been listening to a damn word she'd said.

"_Listen, _you deaf, stupid _cow,_" Hermione snapped, letting her temper get the best of her, "I was a Book Binder and _the Head_ of Magical Literature for the _bloody_ Ministry of_ bloody _Magic before the goddamned department got cut by those _idiot _pricks in the accounting division. Now take my _damn _résumé to your _damn_ supervisor right this _bloody _instant!"

Her tantrum had drawn a bit of a crowd, but it had the desired effect of sending the poor sales witch scurrying away, Hermione's résumé waving madly in front of her as she called for her supervisor. Hermione glared after her, feeling very angry with everything and everyone.

It wasn't the sales witch's fault, of course, that the higher-ups had decided that Hermione's department was worth more to them if it was converted into a break-room and all of the employees that had worked there were sent running for the hills without so much as a pension plan. It wasn't her fault that Hermione's hours of pleading and writing letters and speaking in the Ministry Atrium had gone unnoticed, unrewarded. It wasn't her fault that Hermione, only a week ago a very successful and fulfilled department head, was now jobless and scrabbling for minimum wage positions like bookstore clerk.

No, it wasn't the sales witch's fault.

But Hermione would be damned if that smug, employed bitch didn't feel her wrath. This was the reward she got for working her ass off all those years in school, for helping defeat the Dark Lord, for putting up with the melodramatic bullshit that was Harry Potter during his teen years. All of that, and she was fired by a bunch of fat, ugly gits at the Ministry, most of whom probably couldn't read above a primary school level anyway.

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot as she waited for the witch to return. She froze mid-angry-tap when she heard two very familiar voices behind her.

"Well, she's in a right state, isn't she?"

"Our dearest Head Girl _does _seem a bit touchy today, doesn't she?"

"Perhaps it's _that time_, eh, Gred?"

"Oh, Merlin, help us all, Forge."

Hermione spun to see the Weasley twins grinning down at her, looking for all the world as if watching her thoroughly cuss out an unsuspecting sales witch was better than Christmas, Easter and birthdays rolled into one. She barely had time to decide how she felt about seeing the two of them there before each had an arm around her shoulder, dragging her into a very awkward, very warm, very comforting embrace.

"You've got some nerve showing your face in this alley after all this time," George reprimanded her, his handsome face still beaming at her.

Fred was nodding in agreement. "Haven't seen you more than three minutes at a time in over two years," he said, scowling playfully.

"You saw me at Christmas," Hermione muttered, unable to keep her somewhat irrational fury brewing while the twins' infectiously jaunty presence surrounded her.

They rolled their eyes in unison, George sticking out his tongue for added emphasis. "Oh, _please_-"

"We hardly saw _anyone _at Christmas-"

"Nor did anyone else see much of anyone either, now that I think of it-"

"Yeah, we may have overdone the punch-spiking a bit."

They grinned at each other as if the memories they didn't quite remember were rather wonderful, then turned their attention back to the sullen-faced witch between them. "So what has you riled up, my little spitfire?" George asked, raising his eyebrows and grinning at her cheekily.

Hermione's face reddened, and she scowled at him. "No one's told you, then?"

The twins exchanged a strange look that Hermione didn't quite grasp the meaning of, then returned to beaming at her, though it looked a bit more strained than before. "Things have been pretty hectic at the Burrow lately," Fred explained, waving his hand vaguely. "Tell us what's happening."

"And for the love of Dumbledore, leave the poor sales witch alone. I think she's gone to go have a cry in the store room," George added, grinning more broadly than ever.

Hermione barely had time to protest before the twins had dragged her out into Diagon Alley and towards their huge, flourishing joke shop. It almost hurt her eyes to look at the thing- it was covered in the brightest shade of every color, and the colors all seemed to want to move around and swap places with each other depending on how the sun hit them. The window displays were nothing but masses of frenzied movement as toys and charms chased each other and set off sprays of paint and ink that splattered across the windows which magically cleaned themselves every few minutes.

Hermione felt her mouth hanging open as she stared up at the shop, and the twins paused to let her have a better look.

"We expanded a bit, you see," George explained easily, smiling proudly up at his and his brother's life's work.

"A bit," Hermione echoed sarcastically, watching with dazed eyes as a large model dragon breathed rather real fire, melting a hole through the glass window and terrifying a fascinated crowd of tourists that had gathered outside the window to watch the goings-on inside.

The twins were watching her face eagerly, waiting for some sign of what she thought of their work. It was a moment before Hermione tore her eyes away from the shop and noticed them staring at her, waiting.

"It's incredible," she breathed, but she sounded close to tears.

And not the kind that come from laughing.

Fred and George looked at each other in alarm, quite unprepared for Hermione Granger to start bawling twenty feet outside their door of what they affectionately called the happiest place unknown to Muggles on earth. They silently panicked, using their uncanny form of mental communication to try to figure out what the bloody hell they'd done wrong.

_Did you step on her foot or something?_

_ No, you git! What did you do?_

_ Me? ! ? ! I haven't done anything!_

_ Well then why on earth is she upset?_

Simultaneously, the twins wrapped their arms around Hermione again, catching her by surprise. She hadn't even realized that tears had begun to well up in her eyes until she saw how incredibly concerned the two young men looked.

"Oh, goodness," she groaned, quickly brushing her hands across her eyes to wipe the moisture away. "I'm very sorry, you two. The shop looks wonderful, really."

"So wonderful that you burst into tears at the sight of it?" George demanded with his eyebrows raised.

"Don't mind me," she said thickly, still struggling to contain the uprising of frustration and desolation that had swept upon her.

The twins rolled their eyes again, and once again grabbed her by the arms and hauled her into the joke shop. Hermione expected them to let her go when they were inside so that she could look around at all of their ingenious inventions, but they sailed right through the thronging crowds and jewel-bright displays, straight to a hidden door that led to a brightly lit staircase, which in turn led to the upstairs flat that the twins had lived in ever since first opening Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

They dropped her on the couch and Fred fell onto the couch beside her while George moved to the small kitchen a few feet away and set a pot of tea boiling on the stove.

Fred reclined with his head in her lap, blinking up at her with curious, concerned, and very, very blue eyes.

"Spill it, Hermione. What's got you wrecked?"

From the kitchen, George called to her as well. "And don't try to get out of telling us- we're more than prepared to keep you hostage against your will."

Hermione bit her lip, staring into Fred's freckled, rather beautiful face. She had always rather fancied the twins- but then again, who hadn't? They were impossible to turn down when they flashed one of their brilliant, patented smiles.

"It's just-" she began, but her voice sounded stuffy and all wrong. She hadn't realized that she was _still _crying. She was beginning to lose patience with herself; Hermione had never much been one for helpless tears. She lost her train of thought when Fred reached up a gentle, calloused hand and brushed away the stream of cool tears from her cheek. Her eyes closed and she sighed, relaxing a bit.

She felt the couch sink down a bit when George sat on her other side, propping his feet on the coffee table and resting an arm around her shoulders. He handed her a cup of tea, and kept the other one for himself. Fred was hardly in any position to drink tea, but he seemed perfectly happy to stay there.

"Let it out, Hermione. God knows you've put up with enough bullshit in your life already."

Hermione blinked rapidly, looking first at Fred's calm, expectant gaze and then to George's equally placid, patient expression. She let out a shaky breath and then launched into a rather bitter retelling of the final days of her beloved department, the clinical dismantlement of her well-trained team of experts, and the final, most unbearable injustice of Pansy Parkinson being the one to sign the final death warrant of her precious job.

Fred and George were wide-eyed when she finished, and she absently stroked the bright red hair on Fred's forehead as she tried to keep her emotions in check.

"Those smarmy bastards," George said finally, sounding quite upset.

Fred was scowling now, arms crossed tightly over his chest. It looked a bit comical, with the way he was laying on his back with his head in her lap, but Hermione felt a strange sense of comfort that the twins were nearly as unhappy as she was.

"Hermione, I'm not going to pretend I have a damn idea what your department did, but if you were in charge of it there's no doubt in my mind that it was pretty important," Fred said seriously.

George nodded his assent. "We might just have to go have a little talk with the wizards in charge of accounting."

Hermione was surprised. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice a bit shaky.

"Let's just say we got a few of them out of a tight spot last year when the Ministry came up short in the budget by a few thousand Galleons," Fred said darkly.

Hermione suddenly wondered just how much money the twins were pulling in with their business, but she didn't get a chance to ask. "Losing your job still doesn't explain why the sight of our glorious establishment set you to weeping," George prompted, and he and Fred returned to the silent task of staring at her expectantly.

She fiddled with Fred's hair for a few moments, feeling both silly and a bit snobbish at the answer she was going to give them. Fred closed his eyes contentedly and hummed in quiet pleasure as her fingers combed through his hair. Feeling a bit heartened, Hermione cleared her throat and steeled herself for their reactions to her ridiculous answer.

"It's just…well. Oh this is so stupid," she groaned, her cheeks burning. "When I saw what the two of you have accomplished- you two, with barely half of my amount of O.W.L.'s and no N.E.W.T.'s to speak of- it just… I just felt like I'd wasted all of my time. I spent so much time trying to learn the proper things and go about everything the right way, and then there's you two. You just decided one day that you wanted to open a shop and half a decade later it's the most vibrant, wonderful place in the world. You accomplished that with barely half of my education, and yet I can't even keep open a stupid department in the Ministry of Magic."

George snorted. "That's stupid."

"Yep," Fred agreed, eyes still closed. "Our shop is the most wonderful place in the universe, not the world."

"Oh, yeah," George added as an afterthought. "And you're bloody brilliant. It's not your fault that department isn't open. It's just the Ministry being a pack of sniveling jackasses."

"As usual," Fred added with an impressive yawn. He stretched luxuriously and nestled a bit further into Hermione's lap, reaching up to tangle his fingers with hers. George grabbed her other hand and both twins looked at her earnestly.

"Hermione, you're honestly the smartest person alive. And there's nothing within our power that we won't do to get you your department back."

"And in the meantime, you're more than welcome to put that brilliant brain of yours to work helping us invent a few new products."

Hermione pursed her lips, unsure of what to say. Part of her had long ago come to believe that the twins were capable of accomplishing anything they put their minds to, whether it was opening a world-famous joke shop, creating fireworks that could be seen from space, or getting her back into the Ministry. Another part of her was weary about accepting their invitation to work with them. Her experiences with the Weasley family had been marred by her failed relationship with their youngest brother.

They sensed her hesitance, and quickly persuaded her the best way they knew how.

"You made too much of an arse out of yourself at that bookstore for them to ever hire you," George said simply.

Fred grinned up at her. "In fact, they'll probably have a restraining order filed against you by lunchtime."

Hermione supposed the twins were right. She sighed, leaning back against the couch and resting her head on George's shoulder.

"So what have you been working on lately?" she asked, feeling a little bit as if she'd just signed her own prison sentence. The twins however just beamed at her, more than delighted to have the brightest mind of their generation investing herself in their humble little joke shop.

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**_A/N: _**A Fred/George/Hermione story. I love Fred/George/Hermione stories, but I'm not sure how successful I'll be at writing them. Oh well, we'll see I suppose! Let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

_**Something Like Sunlight**_

_Chapter Two: George vs. Fred

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George watched his brother pace the floor of their loft for the hundredth time, fighting the urge to laugh at the nearly Confunded expression on Fred's face. His twin just couldn't seem to get over the events of today.

"How could anyone _fire _Hermione Granger?" Fred demanded for the umpteenth time. "There has to be a law against that kind of shit somewhere!"

George sat at the little island counter in their small kitchen, absently stirring a bowl of cereal with a spoon. "Well, seeing as it's the Ministry that fired her and they _make _the laws, I think they can do whatever they bloody well please."

That didn't seem to ease Fred's mind at all. "Well, that's not fair! And another thing!" Fred nearly shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at George who just looked on in amusement. "Why didn't she come to us for help? We've always been really supportive!"

George snorted into his cereal bowl, sending flecks of milk and Fruit Loops flying across the tiled counter. "Oh, yeah, _so _supportive. Like how we used to hide her books in the couch cushions, or enchant her book bag to vanish her papers when she wasn't looking? Or how about placing her underwear at strategic points around the castle and sending her on a scavenger hunt?"

Fred waved his hand as if those things were inconsequential. "That was just in good fun. But I mean this- this is serious, George! She loved that job."

"And I love our carpet. Stop pacing before you burn a damn track into it," George cautioned, simultaneously waving his wand over the counter to clean up the mess he'd made.

Fred groaned and flopped onto the couch, blinking pathetically at his twin. George rolled his eyes, but gave in anyway. "Well, alright, what are we going to do about it, then?"

They stared at each other in silence for a long while, but anyone who knew the twins well enough could tell you that they didn't need to speak to formulate a plot. 

Hermione was still on edge. In quick succession, she had not only lost her dream job but had it removed from the face of the earth entirely, and now she had agreed to put her years of hard-earned magical experience into helping run a _joke shop _owned by her ex-boyfriend's twin brothers who had tortured her through most of her Hogwarts days. The Weasley twins had taken Hermione's hours of studying and reading as a personal offense of sorts, and had spent many hours doing their very best to distract her from her work. If anyone was Hermione's polar opposite, it was the Weasley twins.

They had changed a great deal though since their school days, she couldn't deny them that.

It was a widely-accepted fact that Fred and George were two of the most successful businessmen that Diagon Alley, and the wizarding world in general, had ever known. They were still lovingly devoted to their work, but they _had_ matured a lot since the war. Both young men had nearly met death several times throughout the war effort, and it had altered them dramatically.

Feeling as if her head would explode from all the changes taking place so rapidly in her world, Hermione decided that the best thing to do was take a bubble bath and try to avoid thinking for as long as possible. She wished, a bit guiltily, that she were as dim as Ron sometimes. It would be so much easier to clear her mind if it were nearly empty already.

She sank into the pleasantly hot water, sticking her face into the bubbles and letting them tickle her skin as they popped. As she slowly started to relax, Hermione breathed in the scent of her bubble bath, a light, warm vanilla, and allowed her mind to wander again.

She had neglected, so far, to think about how she'd felt when the twins had shown up as she was making a complete arse out of herself at that bookstore. The logical response was, naturally, embarrassment. Hermione rarely lost her temper like that, and she knew that she was completely irrational when she did.

Embarrassment hadn't been her first emotion though. She'd never admit it, but as soon as she'd heard those familiar voices her heart had fluttered wildly and she'd felt her nerves frazzle for a different reason. It had been so long since she'd really seen Fred and George, even though she'd contradicted them when they had said the very same thing. She didn't allow herself to think of the old days much, instead preferring to throw herself into her work(or now lack thereof), but when she did it was undeniable that she missed the Weasley family very much.

And since she'd stopped seeing Fred and George all the time, laughter had been a bit hard to come by. The people in her department had been like a family to her, but they were all very serious, and she'd never spent much time with them away from work. When she really thought about it, it had been months since she'd really been happy rather than just content.

Crookshanks slunk into the bathroom and jumped on the edge of the tub, blinking down at her. He was judging her, she knew. She sighed, closing her eyes and sinking all the way under the water. No matter what happened, tomorrow was going to be interesting. 

George was beginning to lose his patience. Even though he had gone into his bedroom and shut the door, he could still hear Fred pacing across the living room. He knew Fred was excited about Hermione coming to work with them tomorrow, but if he didn't get a hold on himself George was going to throw him out the damn window.

It wasn't that George wasn't a bit excited about it, too; he was. He was really excited about the possibilities of having someone as talented as Hermione working on their products presented. The problem was that George was quite sure Fred was excited for a different reason. The way he'd looked earlier that day, sprawled on her lap like some sort of cat with that ridiculously sappy expression on his face, had been nearly revolting.

But George had to admit, if anyone deserved a bit of a break in the romance department, it was his brother. Things had been rough on Fred since his near-death at the war's end.

George sighed, pulling his pillow over his head and shooting a silencing spell at the door. He would give Fred this one night to obsess, then they were going to have a very serious talk about locking shit down and such.

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**_A/N: _**Thanks for the reviews:) This story didn't do quite as well as my others as far as response to the first chapters, but you always have at least one flop right? I still like it, so I'm going to keep working on it.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**_ XD I'm so sorry. It didn't occur to me that "locking your shit down" isn't a universal expression. Well, that's college will do to you. It means not giving away how you feel, playing it cool. It especially applies when you've been drinking and you're trying not to act like an ass in order to impress someone. Hm.

**_Something Like Sunlight_**

_Chapter Three: Parkinson/Krum vs. Weasley/Sex Toys_

When Hermione woke up the next morning, she felt nervous for some reason she couldn't place. It was after she had served Crookshanks his breakfast and set to work on making her own porridge that all of the events of the previous day flooded her memory, sending the bowl in her hand clattering to the floor as she clutched the counter for support. Lost her job, exploded in Flourish and Blotts, agreed to work for Fred and George.

She closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to slow. Crookshanks ignored her display, turning his fluffy ginger back to her and focusing on his breakfast. Hermione picked the bowl up off the floor, waved her wand to clear the mess, and went back into her room to get dressed. She was now far too upset to eat. What on earth had she done to deserve all this?

Hermione stood in front of her closet, entirely unsure what she should wear for her first day at the twins' shop. There was probably going to be more than one explosion, maybe some fire, a good deal of backfiring hexes. Also, if she wanted to get on their good side, she supposed she should wear the brightest, most luridly hideous shirt she possessed. Twenty minutes later, she was heading out the front door clad in old jeans and a vibrant yellow t-shirt covered in bright pink paint spatters. The twins would hardly complain about anyone showing up in their shop without being dressed in business attire. Besides, Hermione thought as she caught a glimpse of herself in a window she passed, her attire was quite impressively garish, if she did say so herself.

When she arrived in Diagon Alley, she hid her face as she passed Flourish and Blotts, not wanting to attract the attention of the sales witch she had been so horrible to the day before. When that little obstacle was done with, she was within eyesight (and what a sight it was) of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Her heartbeat seemed to pick up a bit, and she inwardly started going over all of the fire-extinguishing and shield spells she knew.

It was very early still, and the shop wasn't open for business. However, as soon as Hermione was within three feet of the magnificently vibrant doors, they flew open and Fred and George bounded out to meet her, grinning magnificently. Hermione, though taken aback, answered their grins with a reluctant smile of her own.

The twins were blinking at her, blue eyes wide. "What are you wearing?" George demanded, and Hermione had to look down to check. The way they were staring at her chest made her feel as if she'd walked out of her house naked. Thankfully, the awful yellow shirt was in place.

"I thought it would fit in with the shop," she explained, shrugging nonchalantly, even though she was beginning to worry that she had misjudged the twins' feeling on businesswear.

It turned out she had been correct in her original musings, because the twins broke into identical heart-warming grins as they ushered her into the shop. Even though the store wasn't open yet, there was movement everywhere as Verity and a few other workers ran around pell-mell, attempting to coax some of the products back onto their shelves. It was chaotic, but Hermione thought it was sort of nice- she would have to be on her toes so she wouldn't be able to focus on everything that had gone wrong in the last few days. She also wouldn't have to focus on how very warm the bodies of the twins felt on either side of her, or how distracting it was when her fingers would brush against theirs as they walked.

Fred broke away from them, giving Hermione's arm a gentle squeeze and grinning before heading over to help the other employees tame the store. George took her other arm and led her back behind the counter, past the door that led up to their apartment, and to a curtain that blended in very well with the surrounding ever-changing wall. Behind the curtain was a dark room full of everything that was unfit for sale at the present time. Hermione could barely begin to imagine what some of the oddities were meant to accomplish, but they were all fascinating. George stood back and watched her wearily as she began to circle the room, inspecting some things from a respectable distance while she reached her delicate hands down and prodded others.

When she turned towards him, he immediately felt more than a bit prideful about the awed look on her face.

"How am I- what am I-" Hermione struggled for words, hand still resting on a perfect scale model Quidditch game based off of the four Hogwarts houses. "I don't think I'm clever enough to work here," she finally finished lamely, her eyes following a tiny Beater as he circled the miniature goal posts lazily.

George snorted, but he felt his heart swell with the flattery hidden in the statement. "Please, Hermione. If Fred can work here, anyone can," he said grinning.

He felt good when she laughed at that, rolling her eyes and turning to observe more of the merchandise-in-progress. A few minutes later, Fred wandered in. He stood beside George, looking equally pleased to find that she was so in wonder of their work. George nudged his brother sharply in the ribs before ducking out of the room.

"What am I going to work on?" Hermione asked finally, raising her large brown eyes to Fred.

The words were innocent, but he'd been in the middle of some not-so-innocent thoughts about her if truth be told, so it took him a second of blinking and turning red-faced to understand what she meant. "Oh! Right. Well, remember how you were always so good at those extension charms? We'd like you to give a go at producing some undetectable extension items for us, if that's alright."

Hermione's face brightened and she grinned at Fred, which sent the most peculiar feeling swooping through his stomach. "Oh, that's brilliant! I can do those in my sleep."

Fred grinned back at her, trying to get his head on straight. "Well, let's get started then."

Many hours later, the two emerged from the back room looking rather pleased with themselves. They had managed to convert bags, hats, pockets, and even drinking cups into extended objects, and Fred thought the future looked bright for the new line. He was in the middle of telling Hermione a rather off-color joke as they searched the store for George when Hermione froze at his side, her face blanching.

He turned to see what had caused her to freeze up, and found himself staring at a pug-faced but not necessarily ugly witch in very expensive looking robes. The woman was accompanied by a lanky, broad-shouldered man who looked quite familiar, but Fred couldn't seem to place him.

"Oh, darling, I've just been _so _stressed at the Ministry lately," the witch said in a voice that was an odd, not really appealing mix of whining and seduction. "I could do with a night of _unwinding_," she purred, running her gloved hands over the man's back and straight down to his arse without the hint of a blush on her face.

The couple was standing near the display of sex-stimulant goods near the back of the store, the woman laughing in an unpleasant, simpering way as the dark-haired man said something in a thick accent that sent Fred's eyebrows straight up into his hairline.

Viktor Krum, Hermione's ex and first boyfriend. And if he wasn't mistaken, that witch was Pansy Parkinson…who had shut down Hermione's department only days before. Fred chanced a look back at Hermione's face and was shocked to see angry tears brimming in her eyes. Without a word, she whirled away from him and stalked to the door that led up to the twins' apartment.

George saw her angry exit and approached Fred, looking confused. Fred filled him in on what he'd just seen, and George groaned.

"She just can't catch a break, can she?" he muttered. "You better go up and check on her."

Fred complied, heading upstairs to find the distraught witch. She was standing in the middle of the living room facing the far wall. Her shoulders were shaking with frustrated sobs, and Fred wasn't sure what he should do. He settled on standing close behind her and wrapping his arms around her stomach before resting his chin on her shoulder. He was sort of worried that the contact would freak her out, send her into a yelling frenzy or something of the sort. He was wrong.

She leaned her weight back against his body, closing her eyes and stifling her angry weeping. It was so hard to be upset when a Weasley twin was nearby. The warmth from his body flowed into hers, soothing the stress that had been riled up by the sight of Parkinson and Viktor Krum of all people.

"You going to be alright?" Fred asked wearily, unsure of what was going on in that brilliant head of hers.

Hermione let out a bark-like laugh, turning to face him and dropping her head onto his shoulder. She murmured something into his shoulder that sounded a lot like, "Life sucks, Fred."

He dropped his chin onto the top of her head, laughing into her frizzy curls.

"Not all the time, love," he said lightly, trying to keep her laughing at least.

She tightened her arms around his middle, nearly crushing him against her and let out another peal of laughter into his shirt. The sound made him feel warm and proud, even more so than watching her look wonderingly at all of his and George's inventions.

A throat cleared behind them and Fred inwardly groaned. He and Hermione turned to look at his twin, Fred grinning sheepishly and Hermione rubbing her red-rimmed eyes.

"George, I'm sorry!" she nearly wailed, causing both of the twins to jump in alarm as she started crying again. "You give me a job and I-I-I go crazy on my f-f-f-first day!" she sobbed, covering her face with her hands.

George crossed the room and wrapped an arm around her shoulder comfortingly.

"No worries, love. You aren't the one that sold our dear customers Firecrotch Lube."

Hermione's sobs ended immediately, and she peaked at the twins from between her fingers. "You sold them _what_?" she demanded, horrified.

"Firecrotch Lube," George reiterated.

"We came up with it when we were in our last year at Hogwarts," Fred explained.

"People always wanted to see our-"

"Family jewels, shall we say-"

"To see if we were _really _redheads,"

"Which is ridiculous, because we're Weasleys."

"Yep, so we made Firecrotch Lube as a joke."

"Turns your pubes a lovely flaming ginger color,"

"And burns like hell," George finished happily.

Hermione's eyes were the size of galleons, and the twins thought they had maybe overstepped some sort of boundary of hers. In the next minute, they realized they had most certainly not when she launched herself onto the two of them, hugging them so tightly that their ribs cracked.

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**_A/N: _**Once again, this is rushed and a bit disjointed. Sorry about that! But thanks for all of the really sweet reviews!


	4. Chapter 4

_**Something Like Sunlight**_

_Chapter Four: You Telling Me To Write Longer Chapters vs. What Is Regrettably My Shortest Chapter Yet:/

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_

"You figured out how we're going to get her job back?" George asked, reclining lazily on the couch as he watched his twin shoving what looked like the entire contents of their kitchen into a fluffy pink purse. Fred didn't even look up from his task; his face was set in a deep frown as his wand flew from tea pot to cook book to barstool, all of which flew easily into the average-sized women's handbag. When the entire stove flew into the bag without changing its shape or fullness at all, Fred threw his wand down in frustration.

"This is bloody ridiculous," Fred sighed, finally giving up and stalking over to the couch to flop down beside his brother. "I know she's damn brilliant, but there doesn't seem to be any limit to how much shit can fit into her extension charms!" Fred crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at the pink bag that was sitting innocently in the kitchen doorway.

George grinned, flicking his wand so that the bag flipped open and their kitchen décor began to replace itself in the proper spots. "No reason to be mad. That just means we get to charge more. Now, about her job?" he prodded, flicking his wand again so that a container of Mrs. Weasley's cookies that had just flew out of the bag levitated over to the couch instead of their proper place on the kitchen mantle.

"Oh, right," Fred muttered, not sounding any happier about getting Hermione's job back than he had been about how impressive her charm work was. "Well, I reckon you made it a bit more difficult for us when you sold that Parkinson witch a good old container of Firecrotch. She'll probably have a bit of trouble warming up to us now."

George frowned, holding a cookie halfway to his mouth as he thought. "Reckon you're right."

There was a moment of silence while Fred stared very seriously at George, as if waiting for him to grasp something. George returned his stare, eyebrows raised in confusion until-

"Oh, that's horrible," George groaned, rolling his eyes and tossing the cookie he'd been holding at his twin.

Fred smirked, catching the treat in his hand and putting his feet on the coffee table. "Honestly, I wasn't sure you were going to catch it. It was a bit of a stretch."

George rolled his eyes again, muttering darkly under his breath, "_Fire_crotch_, _and _warming _up to us. Ha ha, how _clever_."

Unfazed by his brother's criticism, Fred shoved the cookie into his mouth, thinking as seriously as he could ever manage. "Well, assuming the woman's as randy as she'd have to be to consider buying sex toys from a joke shop, I suppose one of us could seduce her."

George grimaced. "Here we go again. Why's it that when you come up with a solution, we have to solve every problem with our dicks?"

Fred shrugged, unabashed. "Most of our problems involve women, and most women really enjoy our dicks. It's some sort of scientific law or something."

"Science is for Muggles," George pointed out.

"Well, our privates aren't. They're for everyone. Within reason, at least," Fred added thoughtfully, standing from the couch and stretching luxuriously before heading to his bedroom.

George shrugged, conceding that, as crazy as it sounded, most of his and Fred's problems had been eventually started _and _solved by their penises. "Such is life," he murmured, stuffing another cookie into his mouth before heading to his own bedroom for the night.

Hermione would never admit it to anyone, but she was really enjoying her work at WWW. It was challenging in a way that she wasn't used to- reading books and thinking things over weren't helpful at all; she had to be quick on her feet, impulsive, rash. She wasn't used to any of those things, but it was very freeing being in a job where you could do absolutely no wrong. Earlier that day, she'd been sure she would be fired when she accidentally set off a whole crate of wet-start fireworks, but the twins had been delighted. The customers had as well, and the shop had sold out within minutes of the impromptu display.

She laughed to herself, stroking Crookshanks as she sank into her favorite well-worn armchair and cracked open her newest book. Hermione was half-way through the first chapter when there was a sharp tapping on her sitting room window, and she nearly threw Crookshanks on her book on the floor in her hurry to reach the owl that rested on the sill.

_Hermy,_

_Gred and I have started phase 1 of our daring, devilish, dashing, daunting, drastic, dreadful, damned doable plan to get you your job back. If things go according to schedule, you'll be surrounded by sweaty nerds and dusty books again within two weeks. In the meantime, you'll just have to put up with my wonderfully handsome face. _

_Fred_

_P.S. And George. You'll have to put up with George as well._

She laughed, though she was rather appalled at the resurgence of that awful nickname, and tucked the letter into her back pocket, stroking the owl's feathers gently as she leaned out the window. It was amazing how simple things were for the Weasley twins- it'd only been two days, and they already had a plan in full swing. Hermionewas very curious as to what their plan was, and decided to ask them in the morning. As it was, she was tired. Scooping up a disgruntled Crookshanks from the floor, Hermione headed into her bedroom for a well-earned rest.

* * *

**_A/N: _**This isn't really a chapter. More of an interlude to let you know what's happening. The chapter title says it all, I'm afraid. Anyway, thank you for the lovely reviews!


	5. Chapter 5

_**Something Like Sunlight**_

_Chapter Five: Hermione vs. Fred_

* * *

"You reckon we should go help her out?" Fred asked idly, leaning against the cash register while George sat propped on the counter. They were both watching Hermione as she alternated between yelling in frustration and waving her wand at a small container and then sprinting away from it when tiny jets of fire issued from the top.

"Give it a minute," George said absently, licking his lips as he intently followed what was sure to turn into mayhem any moment.

He didn't have to wait long. As soon as Hermione approached the box again, a rather lengthy puff of flame caught her new WWW work robes ablaze. The twins jumped into action unbelievably quickly for two people who, only seconds before, appeared to be on the verge of a midday nap.

Fred was across the room and shouting an extinguishing charm at Hermione within seconds, while George was performing the same magic on a near-by shelf that had caught fire as well. The fire was subdued within seconds, leaving a very unhappy, drenched Hermione as the only evidence of its existence.

"_Why_," she hissed, glaring from one sheepish red head to the other as she wrung water from her hair, "haven't you flame-proofed the uniforms for this place?"

Fred and George's eyebrows rose in surprise and they blinked at each other.

"That's a bloody good idea, Hermione," George said seriously, looking at his own magenta robes as if seeing them for the first time. Fred was grinning, waving his wand experimentally over the sleeve of his robe.

"Try to set me on fire," he demanded, holding his arm out to Hermione.

"What? No!" she snapped, still clearly irritated and thoroughly soaked.

"Come on," he coaxed, wiggling his arm in front of her face. "In the name of discovery and future safety."

Hermione bit her lip in uncertainty, then rolled her eyes, pushed the stray strands of wet hair off of her forehead, and pointed her wand at Fred's sleeve.

Which immediately burst into flames.

"Shit!" he yelled, but Hermione was already shooting a jet of water at the flame.

"Needs some work," George observed. He nodded to himself, looking very thoughtful as he drifted off to the workroom. "You two get cleaned up; I think I know how we can make it work."

Hermione followed Fred upstairs into the twins' apartment and stood in the sitting room, unsure of what to do next. Fred was halfway to his room when he noticed her hesitating by the couch.

"Aren't you going to change?" he asked, leaning halfway against the doorframe.

She shifted from foot to foot, not quite meeting his eye. "I don't have any other robes," she said.

Fred rolled his eyes. "We're not sticklers for dress code. Just wear whatever you've got on under your work robes."

His eyes widened as Hermione's face burned bright red. Apprehension dawned and his jaw dropped.

"You're not…you don't have… are you _free-balling_ today?" he demanded, sounding much more intrigued than disapproving.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at the floor. "It's laundry day. I- I didn't have anything!"

Without another word, Fred turned and went into his bedroom. Hermione was beginning to think he'd gotten lost or gone to take a nap, but a moment later he returned with a pair of worn jeans and a t-shirt that Hermione could already tell would be much too long on her.

"Here you are," he said brightly, passing her the clothes with a little bow. "Bathroom's to the right," he added, pointing her in its direction.

She went into the bathroom and stripped off her sopping wet work robes, pausing when she held up the t-shirt to examine it. It was one of those awful shirts that featured a woman's torso in a bikini top. Leave it to Fred, Hermione thought dryly, sighing as she pulled the hideous thing over her head. It hung closer to her knees that to her middle, and her actual breasts made the fake ones on the shirt stick out as if they were quite real. The jeans were another problem. They were a bit tight on her bum, but they were also entirely too long. It looked as if a good foot of fabric was pooled around her ankles. She nearly laughed aloud as she examined herself in the mirror.

Fred _did _laugh when she reentered the living room, hands on her hips and a disapproving gleam in her eye.

"In all fairness," he choked out between chuckles, "I didn't actually think you'd put that shirt on."

Hermione threw her folded wet robes at him, hitting him squarely in the face.

"Don't you have anything else?" she demanded, trying not to laugh as he sputtered and glared at her.

"Laundry day," he said cheekily, marching off into his room to get changed himself. Hermione humphed, crossing her arms and sitting primly on the couch to wait. She wasn't really sure _why _she was waiting; she was more than capable of marching back downstairs all by herself, thanks very much. Then she remembered that she'd never asked Fred about his and George's plan to get her job back.

Assuming Fred couldn't possibly be taking this long to change, she decided now was as good a time as any to ask him what the plan was. After all, maybe she could help. Mouth already beginning to form her well-worded inquiry, she shoved open Fred's bedroom door.

"Oi!" he yelped, blue eyes impossibly wide as he paused midaction (pulling on a pair of red boxers that clashed spectacularly with his hair- both sets of hair, Hermione noted a bit fuzzily, as her brain seemed to have stopped working). He was hunched over, partially facing her, the lean muscles in his body tensed from surprise. Even as Hermione vaguely realized she should probably apologize, leave the room, shut the door, she couldn't help but feel herself growing a bit warm as her eyes hungrily searched every inch of his body they could reach of their own accord.

Fred felt as if his heart was about to pop like a balloon. He had absolutely no problem with anyone seeing him in his birthday suit (a trait that had gotten him in trouble quite a few times at Hogwarts), but a bloke liked to have a bit of notice before his jewels were put on parade. Even that he could have handled though, if only Hermione weren't looking at him in _that _way.

True, she was wearing that ridiculous baggy t-shirt, and those jeans fit her all wrong- her hair was a bloody mess as it curled and frizzed while it dried. She wasn't the skinniest witch he'd ever laid eyes on, and maybe other girls were better at putting make-up on…

But he'd be damned if the way her eyes were traveling over his body wasn't on the verge of driving him insane. He couldn't rip his eyes away from the way her lips were slightly parted, forming that inviting little "o", long enough to remember to finish putting on his bowers. And good lord, she wasn't wearing a bra- he could tell from the way her the two raised picks were now making themselves quite apparent beneath that awful shirt that he now wished he'd never had her put on.

Sooner or later, one of them would have to snap to their senses, but sooner didn't seem as if it were going to come anytime in the near future. With neither sooner or later showing their faces, it was up to the only other unstoppable force of nature in the vicinity-

"What the bloody hell is going on in here?" George demanded from right behind Hermione. She jumped nearly a foot in the air, spinning to face Fred's twin while simultaneously self-consciously crossing her arms over her chest.

Fred snapped upright, pulling his boxers up as he went. Part of him was glad he hadn't put jeans on yet, because they'd have been uncomfortably tight at the moment.

George stood in the doorway, hands on his hips as he looked expectantly from one guilty, dazed face to the other.

"I was changing," Fred offered dimly, unable to think of any other explanation in his distracted state.

"And you?" George pushed, turning his curious, amuse gaze to Hermione.

"I was- I- well, I was going to…" she struggled, trying to remember why she'd come in the room at all. Something about…a plan? OH! "I was just going to ask what the plan was!" she said quickly, blushing. "You know, to get my job back?"

She caught an odd look pass between the twins, the one they gave each other when deciding whether or not they were going to be honest with someone. She was familiar with that look from her days as a prefect and Head Girl.

"Well," said George, grinning broadly, "I'll just leave that explanation to Fred. It was his idea after all." George turned to leave the room, but before he could take a step, Fred yelled out-

"George is going to bang Parkinson!"

"Oi!" George shouted, facing his brother with a disgusted look. "Since when did we decide I've got to be the one to do it?"

Hermione was thinking a lot more clearly now, but "banging Parkinson" and getting her job back didn't really seem synonymous in her book. She glared at the two red-faced brothers, unable to remember seeing the Weasley twins blush at any other point in her life.

"What does 'banging' Pansy have to do with getting my job back?" she said sharply, locking eyes with first one Weasley an then the other.

They laughed uncomfortably, and then Fred not-so-lightly but quite surreptitiously punched George somewhere near his left kidney. "He was _joking_, Hermione. We have a completely different, _secret _plan."

"Top secret," George added, glaring at Fred as he gingerly rubbed his side.

Not quite satisfied, but sensing she would get nothing else out of them at the moment, Hermione stuck her nose in the air and went back down to the shop. When she'd gone, George eyed his brother wearily.

"So what's the new plan?"

"Still banging Parkinson, obviously," Fred answered absently, trying to find a clean shirt.

"When does this plan go into action?"

"Tonight I guess," came Fred's muffled voice through the fabric of the shirt he was wrestling with.

"One last question," said George, watching his twin's struggle with some amusement.

"Shoot."

"What the _hell _was Hermione wearing?"

Fred grinned broadly, throwing his arms around his brother's shoulders and steering them downstairs after the badly dressed witch. "Ugliest thing I could find, dear brother. Ugliest thing I could find."

* * *

_**A/N: **_Sorry this took a bit longer than usual! Hope you liked it.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Something Like Sunlight_**

_Chapter Six: What I Meant to Write vs. What Actually Happened_

* * *

Hermione couldn't sleep. By all accounts, she should've been, and _was_, exhausted after the grueling day at WWW, but every time her eyes closed she had the most disturbing thoughts-

Like Fred's hands running over Pansy Parkinson's body, tangling in her dark hair, pulling her pug-face up against his as their lips met. Like George's body pressed up against the foul witch, both of them bare as the day they were born, as he eased into her, inch by inch…

Hermione bolted out of her bed, stomach turning with disgust. The twins had sworn up and down that sleeping with Pansy was a joke- it wasn't their _real _plan, at all. Still, the images flashed into her head and made her…

Well, quite frankly, they made her angry. She couldn't shake the queasy unease that had settled in her stomach, and she certainly couldn't stop those terrible images from popping into her mind, unbidden.

Crookshanks meowed loudly and followed her as she paced her way into the small kitchen of her flat. She pulled out the kettle and set to making tea the Muggle way; it always calmed her nerves and it required more focus. Crookshanks jumped lightly onto the counter, watching her in that disconcerting way that told her he knew more than a cat should about what she was thinking.

"Don't look down your whiskers at me like that," she grumbled moodily, going to the pantry and pulling out a loaf of bread to make toast. "I can't help it that I'm- that they're-"

Crookshanks stared at her, yellow eyes narrowed.

"I'm certainly not _jealous_, if that's what you're getting at," scoffed Hermione, turning her nose up at the idea as she popped two pieces of bread into the toaster. "I just think it's an entirely improper way to go about getting my job back. _Honestly,_" she said darkly, glaring at the strawberry jam she slammed onto the counter as she ripped through the cabinets in search of a knife to spread it with. "I don't see why you're looking at me like that, Crookshanks."

The cat made a noise that, if it weren't a cat, Hermione might've classified as a derisive little chuckle.

"It's Fred and George!" Hermione exclaimed, losing her patience entirely as she grabbed the too-hot pieces of toast and dropped them on the counter, cursing as she examined her scorched fingertips. "I mean, sure they're helping me out when no one else can, they're charming, and they're handsome, but I just- I don't-"

She faltered, eyes straying to the kitchen window. Outside, it was all darkness and starlight. With a sudden, nearly crippling, pain, she longed to see the large handsome barn owl that belonged to the twins, swooping onto her windowsill with a letter full of nonsense clutched in its sharp beak. She could even handle being called _Hermy _one more time, if only she could just know what the twins were thinking or doing at the moment.

_Know that they aren't doing Parkinson, you mean,_ Crookshanks' eyes seemed to say as he glared balefully at her.

The kettle whistled shrilly, forcing Hermione to tear her eyes away from the empty skyline. "Perhaps I am a _bit _jealous," she admitted in a small voice as she pulled the kettle off the stove, refusing to meet Crookshanks' eyes.

George was grinning from ear to not-ear as he sat across from his brother at their product-testing table.

"You've gone soft on Granger," he accused, eyes twinkling with mirth as Fred continued to scribble notes on a ledger, carefully avoiding looking anywhere near the large purple clock in the corner of the room.

"I've not been soft anywhere _near _Granger lately, thanks," Fred countered, eyes determinedly locked on the tip of his pen as it flew across the page.

George grimaced, shaking his head. "Too much information, I think. Not exactly what I meant though. Why is it that we were supposed to be well on our way to seducing Parkinson an hour ago, and yet we're still sitting here doing invoices?"

"You go shag her if you want," Fred answered stiffly, cheeks turning a bit red.

"M'thinks you aren't so keen on your little plan now that Hermione's shown her disapproval of your methods," George prodded, enjoying the way Fred was quickly becoming irritated at the topic.

"Shove it. You're just jealous that she wasn't looking at _you _like that while you were in your birthday suit."

George snorted. "If she looked at you like that, I reckon she'd look at me about the same. I don't know if anyone's ever told you this," George added in a whisper, leaning over the table to get closer to his brother, "but I hear a lot of people are of the opinion that we look almost _exactly alike."_

"Oh, sod off," Fred snapped, but George could see him fighting back a grin.

He leaned back, stretching his arms high above his head as he winked at his twin. "Never seen the resemblance much, myself. I'm far better looking, you poor ugly beast, you."

It was Fred's turn to snort, and he sighed, finally letting the smile flash across his face. "I still want to help her, Georgie."

George stood from the work bench, waving his wand so that all the papers on his side of the table zoomed away into a filing cabinet near the clock in the corner. "We'll still help her, you twit. Just think of a plan where you keep it in your pants this time."

Fred smirked as he followed George up the steps to their flat. "She totally wanted to shag me, you know."

George rolled his eyes. "Maybe I'll just walk around the shop naked tomorrow and see if it's really just you she fancies, then?"

"You wouldn't," Fred said reproachfully, though he was grinning at the thought of the scandal it would inevitably cause.

"Course not, you git," George laughed, surprised Fred had taken him seriously. Then again, it wasn't that far off something a Weasley twin would do. "Besides, I don't need to parade around naked in front of Hermione to know she'd like to shag me. It's just my animal magnetism; the poor girl's defenseless."

"Anyone ever told you you're an arrogant prick sometimes?"

"We've been called worse."

* * *

**_A/N: _**_UGH. I hate this chapter. _I wrestled with it forever, trying to make my twins go seduce Pansy. They just wouldn't. I fought with them and fought with them, but they're determined boys. I'm afraid I let them win for now, so no Pansy made it into this chapter. Thanks for the reviews and all! You're all wonderful!


	7. Chapter 7

**_Something Like Sunlight_**

_Chapter Seven: Fred vs. George_

* * *

"Where's George?"

Fred, still a bit groggy from his late night planning with his twin, blinked down at his wand. Tired or not, his wand shouldn't be talking to him. He waved it rapidly, banging it on the counter a few times for good measure. Maybe all the experimental magic he and George did was finally catching up with the poor old twig.

"Fred?"

Hm. It gave him a bit of a warm fuzzy feeling that his wand knew his name. How sweet.

But still freaky.

"Fuckin' possessed piece of junk," he muttered, opening the cash register and slamming the change drawer shut on the wand a few times, determined to beat the demonic spirit out of it.

"You're going to break your wand!"

That made Fred pause, and then he felt stupid. He grinned sheepishly as he turned to face the bushy-haired witch standing in the doorway with a concerned expression on her face. It was difficult to get used to someone else coming to the shop early in the morning- Verity never arrived until at least five minutes after her shift started, and George was a heavy sleeper who didn't like to wake up until the sun was thoroughly in the midday position.

Fred surreptitiously stowed his wand in his back pocket, glad that it wasn't possessed but still feeling a bit stupid about the whole thing. "Mornin' Hermione!" he said cheerily, hoping she hadn't heard his little rant at the inanimate piece of wood now tucked in the pocket of his jeans.

"Good morning, Fred," she said, but the bemused and somewhat wary expression on her face made him suspect that she _had _heard him being a bit of a moron. Mercifully, she didn't ask anything about it. "Where's George?" she asked again, coming to lean against the counter next to the present twin.

"He's probably still watching the back of his eyelids. George's never been a fan of the morning shift. The only reason he was awake yesterday morning was to see if you'd actually show up," Fred explained, dropping his elbows onto the counter so that he was closer to Hermione's height. He bumped her shoulder with his, watching her from the corner of his eye. "You know you don't have to be here this early. Hell, I don't even have to be here this early." _I probably _shouldn't _be here this early if I'm going to think my wand's talking to me, _he thought, frowning slightly.

"Well I'm used to waking up early for my- from when I used to work at the Ministry," Hermione said, faltering slightly. It was still hard to believe her beloved department was gone. "I don't like just sitting around, so I thought I'd help open up the store."

Fred nodded, and they were quiet for a moment as Hermione waited for him to give her some instructions. Instead of telling her what to do, he started humming, swaying his hips so that they pushed against Hermione's, knocking her sideways.

"Fred!" she complained, grabbing for his arm to keep herself from falling to the floor. He grabbed her hand, pulling her up and closer to him than he'd meant to. There was an awkward moment where their faces were far too close together, Hermione's wide eyes mirroring Fred's face back to him. Then he grinned broadly, humming tunelessly and louder than ever, and pulled Hermione into a clumsy waltz down the nearest aisle of WWW products. It was odd at first as Hermione resisted the strange uneven steps as Fred led them in spins and twirls through the whole store. Their hands were locked together and Fred flailed their arms wildly, knocking products off the shelves and setting off the Mayhem Alarms he and George had installed a month or so before. After a while, she relaxed, her face glowing from exertion. She followed Fred's wild steps easily, even humming along with his terribly out of tune melody.

"Would you believe I've never had a lesson?" Fred asked her as they nearly knocked over an entire shelf. "Mum always wanted us to learn, to be gentlemen, you know? If only she could see me now..."

When Hermione started laughing, Fred felt happy. Simple as that. Warmth radiated in his chest as she threw her head back and laughed loudly, and he realized he'd never really heard her laugh before. She'd chuckled, giggled, snorted- but never _laughed_, because laughter required abandon and she was always so in control of herself. But now…

She was laughing.

Because of him.

It was almost worth the ear-splittingly loud siren screeching in the background, "STOP BREAKING SHIT YOU DAMN HOOLIGANS. STOP BREAKING SHIT YOU DAMN HOOLIGANS. STOP BREAKING SHIT YOU DA-"

The Mayhem Alarm stopped, and Fred and Hermione stopped right along with it, looking around in confusion. A tousled and unhappy-looking George was standing at the open door that led down from the flat. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was glaring flatly at the two guilty-faced dancers standing in the center of the shop, hands still clasped and raised in waltz position.

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

"Mornin' Georgie," Fred called loudly, as if his twin were miles away instead of just a few feet.

"Good morning, George," Hermione said, with the decency to look at bit embarrassed.

George looked from Fred to Hermione, his lips pursed in a very good but unintentional impersonation of his mother. His eyes rested for a fraction of a second longer on Hermione's flushed but still smiling face and he finally relaxed his posture.

"May I?" he asked gallantly (though his voice was still a bit rough from sleep, it was a good effort). He held out a hand to Hermione, and she took it. George swept them into another waltz, a bit more tame than the one led by his twin. Fred leaned against the counter and hummed music for them. He watched with interest as his brother and Hermione danced around the room, and he was a bit put out when she began laughing for George, too. Maybe it was just something about the twins, being alone with either of them, that made her comfortable enough to drop her guard.

Fred thought that he could handle that.

"You really should put on pants," Hermione gasped breathlessly as George twirled her around the corner of the nearest aisle.

George rolled his eyes. "Don't let Fred hear you say that. He'd say I lost the bet."

Hermione frowned, confused. "What bet?"

"Not a bet really," George amended, looking thoughtful. "More of... I'm not sure what it was." He carefully manouvered them around a center-aisle display of Skiving Snackboxes. "He was just being a prick and saying you were only attracted to him- you know, out of the two of us."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she peeked over her shoulder to see where Fred was propped against the counter, watching them carefully. "Oh...I...I mean- I'm not- I don't- there's not-"

"It's the ear thing, isn't it?" George asked, his face and voice very serious as he spun them around. Hermione couldn't look away from his eyes- so grave and so very un-Weasleytwinish. _He's joking_, she told herself, sure that he was. George would never say something that awful, that sad. It just wasn't his personality.

Or was it?

Hermione had to think about it for a moment. The Weasley twins had always been just that- a set. She'd never spent much time trying to analyze their individual personalities, assuming that they were the same separate as they were together. Maybe that was wrong. Maybe George was the darker of the two, or maybe the war had made him that way. Losing an ear and almost losing your twin brother had to take a toll on a man, didn't it?

"Smile, Hermione. You're worrying dearest Fred," George said, barely moving his lips. Hermione jumped, realizing that she'd fallen into a daze arguing with herself about whether or not George was serious. She forced a smile onto her face, speaking between her teeth as he had.

"You were joking, weren't you? About the ear?" she asked, desperate to hear him agree.

Instead, he turned his face away slightly, biting his bottom lip. After a moment of silence, other than Fred's tone-deaf humming in the background, George answered her. "I don't even know myself, honestly. I feel as if I should say 'yeah, I was completely kidding', because I think that's what you want to hear. But then again, I'm a Weasley, and lying isn't our mug of butterbeer." He trailed off, and Hermione was amazed to see the deep furrow between his eyebrows as he scowled at a spot in the distance. "You know what? I wasn't joking." He wasn't even speaking to her. He was mumbling to himself, his voice thick with something like anger, but slightly off.

"George," Hermione called quietly, trying to pull his attention away from whatever terrible thoughts were circling in his head, making him this bitter unfamiliar stranger.

He blinked several times, his eyes lightening the slightest bit as he turned his face back to her. He looked dazed, as if he'd just woken from a deep sleep. The deep furrow had been replaced by a slight crease, the only reminder of his unhappy mood. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice gravelly.

"Smile," she commanded, pushing the corner of his lips up with her fingers. His eyes widened, and then he laughed, grabbing her hand again and sweeping her into another frenzied dance.

Fred couldn't tell what they were saying, but it must have been interesting. He couldn't see George's face, but Hermione looked very concerned- it worried him. Then she reached up and touched his brother's face, and Fred heard George's booming laugh echo around the shop. After a few moments, he approached them and cleared his throat, holding out his hand as George had.

"May I?" Fred asked solemnly, eyes sparkling.

George bowed before accepting his twin's hand, and the twins left Hermione standing in the middle of the floor as they galloped around the room, neither leading, neither bothering to keep pace with the other. She collapsed against the counter, glad to catch her breath- and even more glad to have some time to figure out just what had passed between George and herself.

* * *

**_A/N: _**Never thought I'd write a new chapter for this, but then I tried and wrote an ending. So then I had to start writing something that would lead to the ending. And then this chapter happened?

Hm.

Thanks for your reviews and support. You're all wonderful!

-Quarters


	8. Chapter 8

**_Something Like Sunlight_**

_Fred vs. George_

_Again._

* * *

"Figured it out yet, brother dearest?" George asked cheerfully, collapsing into the chair across from his twin at the dinner table.

Fred sighed dramatically, dropping his forehead onto the table. "It's hopeless, George. I don't know what we're going to do. If Parkinson's head of the treasury…"

"We could always go talk to Bill," George said casually, leaning his chin on his hand as he watched his twin wallow in hopelessness. Fred seemed to stop breathing for a moment, then he rolled his head to the side so he could stare at George.

"Bill?" he asked. "What about Bill? Why would we talk to Bill?"

George shrugged, leaning back in his chair and rolling his eyes up to look at the ceiling. "Oh, I dunno. I just thought…you know, since he is the _head liaison between the Ministry and Gringott's_."

"Oh." Fred frowned, eyebrows pulling together as he glared at the stove. "Yeah, still not getting it, I'm afraid."

George groaned, unable to keep his fake casual demeanor in place. "Anyone ever told you that you're a bit on the slow side?"

Fred grinned, shrugging his shoulders awkwardly with his face still on the table. "Don't remember. I was probably too busy licking the windows or something."

"To Bill's then?" George asked, already standing from the table.

"About that…" Fred said sheepishly, grinning as he sat up finally. "I've sort of got a… well…"

A knock on the door of the flat interrupted him. The twins froze, eyes locked on each other. The knock sounded again, the slightest bit louder. Before the noise had even begun to die away, Fred and George were racing for the door, tripping and pulling at each other to reach the knob first. Fred crowed with triumph as his hand locked around the doorknob, but George shoved him to the floor, ripping the door open and beaming at their guest.

"Hermione!" he panted, out of breath from his tousle with Fred. George cleared his throat to disguise Fred's muffled curses from his place on the floor. "What brings you here this fine evening?"

Hermione watched with concern as George held the door just open enough that she couldn't really see into the apartment. He stomped on something on the floor, and a groan answered. "Hi, George. Fred said the three of us were going to work some more on the extendable products tonight?" she said, her statement fading into a question as George's grin widened. He looked positively delighted.

"Did he _really?_ The three of working on something, you say?" George tapped his chin with one finger, looking thoughtfully at Hermione. "See, that doesn't ring a bell. My dear brother never mentioned anything to_ me_ about working on the extendable products." He pursed his lips, ignoring the muffled protests from behind the door. "I suppose you'd best come inside so we can get this all straightened out."

He stepped aside so Hermione could enter the flat, and she was somehow not surprised to find Fred sprawled on the ground, George's sneaker holding his face to the floor.

"Now where has old Fred gotten off to?" George murmured thoughtfully, peering around the room as if he expected his twin to be hiding behind the nearest upright lamp.

Hermione had to put a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. She shrugged, playing along. "I don't know, George, but it's very rude of him to be absent when we had plans."

"Positively barbaric," George agreed. He collapsed a second later when Fred managed to punch him in the back of the knee, and he landed on the ground next to his twin.

"Fred! Look, Hermione, I've found him!" George called, beaming from Fred to the red-faced witch leaning against the wall as she choked back laughter.

Fred gave George a murderous glare before crawling to his feet, rubbing the carpet-burned side of his face. "Jackass," he muttered, making sure to step on George's stomach as he made his way to the living room.

Hermione pulled George to his feet and they followed his brother to the sitting room.

"So Fred," George began before anyone else could speak. "Hermione here tells me you've asked her to work on _extending _some things," he said, voice dripping with suggestion. "She said that there's some _extendable _things that need help being _extended _, if you catch my drift."

Hermione made a noise of protest while Fred's face burned red.

"George!" Hermione cried, trying to reach across from the couch she was on to his arm chair in order to slap him. She didn't quite make it, instead falling about halfway onto Fred's lap. He froze midway through launching a pillow at George, blinking down at Hermione. She stared up at him, breathing not quite in time. The moment was tense, and it seemed to last forever.

"Yep," George said, nodding wisely. "Lots of _extending _to be done." He bolted up out of his chair, summoning his coat wordlessly. "Well, you two, I'm off to have a chat with Bill. Don't extend too many things while I'm gone, mind you." He grinned, dancing out of the way of the couch cushion Fred hurled at him, and then –pop!- apparating away.

Hermione and Fred sat frozen in their places, staring at the spot where George had disappeared. After a moment, Hermione remembered where she was and righted herself, leaning away from Fred quickly.

"So…" he said with a false brightness in his voice. "Shall we get to work then?"

Hermione, with very good grace, chose to ignore everything that had been said in the past ten minutes and follow him downstairs into the shop's workroom.


End file.
